


Within these walls

by Yidhra



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Bug Tank AU, Gen, I actually think he's a very interesting character, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Monomon the exposition master, but on the other hand it also means they can die again, listen this au is magnificent and I love it, obscene amounts of exposition, oc inherits her father's house and there's a weird bug tank in the basement, story starts before the events of the game, the pale king is morally grey, there is one character death but it isn't important, which means that everyone is alive and moderately happy, which means that he's not going to be 'uwu' but i also won't shit on him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-05-15 17:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yidhra/pseuds/Yidhra
Summary: "The second time the Titan comes, it wields a blazing light against the creatures of Deepnest, and the Pale King realizes that this isn't a problem that he can push back anymore. The Titan might not have been directly hostile yet, but if it has some sort of relation to the Radiance, he cannot ignore it much longer.He gathers his knights, and the scholars, and begins to plan. He doesn't know what kind of defense they could possibly raise against such a powerful being, but they at least have to try. He only wishes he didn't have to juggle this with his containment plan for the radiance.Monomon the Teacher, as expected, speaks a continuous stream of questions that the Pale King himself doesn't know the answer to."OrThat moment when your dad dies and you inherit his weird colony of sentient bugs.This work used to be named The Moss.





	1. First impressions

**Author's Note:**

> I blame take-a-bug on Tumblr, whose AU just took possession of my hands and forced me to write this.  
> For real tho, you should go and see their post, they're hilarious. There are more blogs for this AU, I think? but this is the one I've been stalking so...  
> If you like this AU you can also read astronomicalz's 'Life in Miniature' on AO3. It's already five chapters long!
> 
> PS: I don't have a beta so this might have some typos, oops

There is something to say about old mansions in the countryside. That is, that they're creepy.

 

She never thought she would see it again, after all these years. She never thought her father would be able to maintain it, what with him quitting his job and having no known income for the past ten years.

The mansion, however, stands before her, like it did before. There are no visible differences, if you don't count the paint in the walls that is chipping away, and that one window that is cracked and has been patched with cardboard from the inside. She sighs; she has a lot of work ahead of her if she wants to make this thing habitable enough to sell it.

 

Lysandra Barklay, Lys to everyone who doesn't want to be glared at, enters her childhood home with aprehension. She doesn't want to think about her life within these old walls, or of the father she lost. She resents him, even now after his death. She knows she is supposed to- to feel what? Sadness? That is what people are supposed to feel when they lose a parent, but instead she is only angry at him. Angry at the world because now that he is gone, she will never be able to scream at him like he deserved.

 

Trying to distract herself from these thoughts, she absentmindedly checks her phone. Still no calls or even a message from her. Her mother is supposed to call her once she finishes managing the paperwork, and while Lys is very grateful that she doesn't have to manage the inheritance, she is also annoyed at her mother's excuse to avoid seeing the mansion again.

 

Lys spends the morning walking the hallways, inspecting the rooms and the state of the furniture. Everywhere she looks is covered by a thick layer of dust, dulling all the colors and making the whole place look desaturated. Hadn't her father kept living here when her mother left him and took Lys with her? It looks like he hasn't used any of these rooms ever since. Though it makes sense that, when he quit his job and fired all the staff, nobody would tend to the mansion. For all she knows, and what little she remembers, he might as well have been living in the basement.

 

Her mother's call – finally – interrupts her train of thought, startling her. She hadn't realized how eerily quiet this place was until her ringtone pierced through the silence.

 

“I'm done here, what about you, dear? Anything to report?” Her mother lowers her voice to a playful whisper. “Did you find any corpses in the basement?”

 

Lys smiles to herself, at least someone's able to find some humor in this situation. Even if she knows that her mother is only putting up a front. “Everything's fine, though very dusty, it's hard to believe anybody lived here at all. It looks abandoned, even.”

 

“Well, your father was never one to clean after himself, so I'm not particularly surprised,” her mother says with the same disapproving voice she uses to talk about her fifth floor neighbours, the ones with the small, noisy dog that barks incessantly.

 

“Yeah, well, I guess we'll have to clean this off before putting it up for sale, but aside from that, the worst thing I've found is a broken window and flaked paint. Oh and I think there's moss growing in one of the first floor bathrooms? It's not the black dangerous one you told me about. It's orange? It might be something else, it oozes.”

 

She hears her mother mutter to herself, like she sometimes does when she's thinking. “Maybe it's dying already? Or lichen? Or maybe some sort of fungus. Don't touch it until we know what it is, alright?”

 

“Yeah, I wasn't planning on it, anyways, it's gross, and there's a bunch of dead bugs around it. Eugh, now I'm grossing myself out. How were things on your end? Have they found a will yet?”

 

“Not yet, if there is one, the lawyer says it must be somewhere in the house. You haven't found one laying around, have you?” her mother says with a hint of wry amusement.

 

Lys snorts. “No, but I haven't inspected the whole house yet, so I guess I'll tell you if I find something.”

 

There is an uncomfortable beat of silence between them, neither of them wanting to talk about the elephant in the room. Finally, it's her mother who adresses it.

 

“Listen, Lys, you don't have to go into that room-”

 

“It's fine. You know I barely remember him anyways, and even if I did... well, we weren't close, were we? Not like you, you knew him.”

 

The conversation trails off after that. They talk about the inheritance and all the paperwork her mother has yet to do. She is the direct heir; even if they didn't live together anymore, they never bothered to get a divorce. Furthermore, no long lost cousins have crawled out of the woodwork to claim it, nor hidden lovers. It seems like her father was alone in this mansion, and in his life.

 

(She should pity him, but all she manages is a sense of schadenfreude that leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.)

 

Lys plans to stay here during summer, and she tells her mother so. She will clean the place and make sure that everything is accounted for. Also make a list of what they can sell or what they should throw out. She has already spotted some moth eaten curtains that are beyond repair.

Her mother is against it, at first. She doesn't like the idea of her daughter spending so much time alone in the middle of nowhere, but in the end Lys manages to convince her. She is going to be on vacation for the duration of the summer, and it's not like her mother can just skip work to do it. They could hire someone to do it but... no. It feels like it's something that they have to take care of themselves. Like closure.

 

Her mother hangs up with the promise of coming to help everytime she has a day or two off.

 

A look at her phone reveals that it's already lunch time, so Lys retrieves her bag from her car and hastily cleans the table and a chair in the first floor kitchen so she can eat. It's just cold leftovers from yesterday's dinner, but she is famished after the journey and all the walking around, so she doesn't mind.

 

She decides, when she's finished, that she can't postpone it anymore. She will have to go and see the studio. The room is in the first floor, to the right; she had been avoiding that part of the house, and when she finally walks through the hallway leading to it, she notices that the dust recedes, if only a little. She can see the footprints left in the thin patina, but at least there's a bedroom to one side free of it – if full of garbage, with books and papers strewn about haphazardly. The wood of the headboard, over the side that looks slept in, bleeds an orange substance – where she supposes her father must have slept. At the end of the hallway is the studio, and she pauses before the wooden double doors to steel herself. She tells herself that it doesn't matter.

 

On the other side of the doors there is the same chaos she found in the bedroom, accompanied by diverse papers either stapled or pinned to the wall. The surface behind them, she discovers, has been taken over entirely by writing, though it looks like nonsense to her1. Her father's bug collection seems to have grown, with new and odd bugs delicately pinned behind glass. It seems the only thing intact in the whole room, and she hopes that the space of the wall that is behind them will be too.

 

The desk has been cleared, though there is still the remnant of a silhouette in the wood. A stain. Behind it, a circle of splatter has been cleaned off of the wall, probably by the forensic team. The circle, imperfect but clear, is a white, stark contrast against the mad scribbles. She averts her eyes from it.

 

Lys spends the next hour and a half sorting through the madness, getting all of the papers that were on the wall into a stack – she will see if they make sense or if they have an order later – and the ones strewn on the floor in another. The books go into the shelves, although not in alphabetical order, like her father had liked. The miniature microscope is put on another shelf, and the drawers are inspected in search of anything that could be of importance, or that should be thrown off immediately (her father had had the habit of storing snacks there, and she had inherited it from him, if her mother was to be believed). In one of them there is nothing but a key, that she identifies as the one that opens the door to the basement, and some of that odd moss in one of the corners. Making a disgusted face, she takes the key, deciding that she will just clean her hands later. For now, she will go and see what kind of atrocities the basement has in store for her.

 

The stairs that lead down are, surprisingly, well tended. The basement itself is empty but for a couch in front of one of the walls, which surprises her even more, because this place used to be a storage room. Had her father spent his days just cleaning it up? And if so, why? And why is that couch here? There aren't even cowebs in the corners, wich suggests that this place had been where he spent most of his time.

Staring at the room from the bottom of the stairs won't give her any answers though, so she turns on the-

 

There are no lightbulbs, great. She still pushes the switch a few times, annoyed, even if she knows that the lights won't magically turn on without a lightbulb. She will have to make do with the dim light coming from the windows. They are so small that she can't fit through them, and the only thing she can see through the slits is overgrown grass, it's a miracle that there is even a hint of light at all in the room.

 

She walks towards the couch, the sunset is still a few hours away but she doesn't want to still be here when it gets dark. Not that there's a lot to see.

 

This last sentence turns out to be quite wrong, once she is close enough to the couch that she can see the wall it's facing in detail. The wall has been transformed, in its entirety, into the biggest ant farm she has ever seen. Her father had gotten her one, when she was a child, though she had been too little to take care of them, and so all of the ants had died soon after. He had been furious with her, and he and her mother had had a fight that day, though she barely remembers what they had yelled at each other2.

The ant farm she has in front of her is at least ten times the size of the one she had as a child. The dirt, encased in crystal to sepparate it from the wall itself and to prevent it from pouring down to the ground, almost reaches her height, the entrance to the colony being at her eye level. Her gaze trails down, following its path, and she realizes that they aren't ants at all. In fact, she can't even recognize most of the bugs inside. On one of the lower corners of the glass, she can see the same orange moss she has seen before throughout the house, oozing a trail of viscous liquid that reaches the floor.

 

Somewhat to the right, but still close to the top, she sees a group of bugs together, all of them different species. Shouldn't they be fighting or something? What are they even doing all gathered up? And wow, those habitat decorations sure are detailed, they look just like tiny bug homes!

Without thinking, Lys taps the glass where the bugs are, wanting to see their reactions, and they immediately turn to look at her. There are a few beats of silence, then the bugs start to chitter loudly, as if panicked, and scatter in different directions.

 

“Huh.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

His kingdom is in a state of panic.

 

As if the threat of the Radiance wasn't enough, some bugs from Dirtmouth are now reporting having seen a Titan just beyond the Haze. And after that loud disturbance that had caused tremors in the windows of the city, no less!

 

The Pale King is at a loss, he has never heard of anything of the dimensions that the bugs of Dirtmouth are describing, but there are too many witnesses to ignore it. They don't seem to have been corrupted by the radiance, either, so he has to rule out a hallucination. Besides that, some other bugs from all over Hallownest are reporting having seen a being of immesurable height and width moving at the other side of the Haze. The timing of this being and the Titan the bugs in Dirtmouth describe is the same, so he is loathe to admit that they are probably the same ocurrence.

 

The scholars of the Archive and the Soul Sanctum are, still now, trying to reach him with questions about this so called Titan, and he has absolutely no answers. He does remember movement beyond the Haze, aeons ago, when he was still in his wyrm form, but he had always thought they were false memories that his mind had fabricated after all his years of existence. Could it be that it had been real? But how could something be even bigger than a wyrm? How would its body support its weight without collapsing? Where would it find sustainment enough? ( _What does it eat?_ ) He could feel a headache coming, and he wasn't even sure yet that this being posed a threat. By the descriptions he had heard, the Titan had just appeared out of nowhere, did something to the Haze – to test its strenght to see if it could attack them? Was the Haze, after all, a barrier to protect the kingdom? – that made a terrible sound, and left.

 

For now, he would just try to take care of the problem at hand – the Radiance – and if the Titan turned out to be a threat, he would think about what to do once that bridge was crossed.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

There are many precepts that the bugs of Hallownest follow, you could say, with religious zeal. The precepts are simple truthts, provided by the King, whose wisdom has kept the kingdom of Hallownest prosperous and thriving. One of these precepts, of these truthts, is that the Haze, the crystal-like barrier that surrounds the Kingdom, is the end of civilisation. There is nothing to find beyond, and no way to cross it. On one side, stone, on the other, the one that interests Monomon the most... an endless expanse interrumpted by what appeared to be a single mountain range. Many theorists speculate that the Haze must be connected, that there aren't two Hazes, one to each side, but that it is, in fact, a box. Given that nobody has yet found the top, bottom or even the other sides of this so-called box, it is mostly disregarded by respected scholars, even mocked by some.

Much has been speculated about what lies beyond the Haze, and its composition, though they are yet to find any conclusive results. The Haze, though it seems made of crystal, has an entirely different internal structure. Where crystal atoms are organized geometrically, the Haze is chaos given form. Which is confusing, because the composition itself seems to be the same. Monomon herself suspects that the Haze might be a derivate of crystal3, much more resilient.

 

Monomon floats from one side of the room to the other, chattering excitedly about the new possibilities. Her student, a young diligent bug named Quirrel, sits not too far from her, watching with amusement.

It has already been a while since they heard reports of what the people of Hallownest have named the 'Titan', and her enthusiasm has yet to wane. Up until that day, the only thing beyond the Haze had been an endless expansion of nothingness, an abyss that no bug would dare to cross (they couldn't reach it, anyways). Some bugs had tried to calculate its expanse, only to go mad after weeks of infructuous research, the vastness of the Chasm too big for their minds to understand. There were no numbers that could encompass it. And yet, something had crossed it. Something had come from the Chasm, a being so huge that its body, if the stories were to be believed, rose higher than the entirety of Hallownest itself. No wyrm had ever reached those dimensions, at least not one whose body had been found4.

 

This new being poses possibilities that Monomon has never considered before, as well as rekindles some questions that she had given up on answering. Is the other side of the Haze habitable? It must be because this being had had no problem whatsoever, then again, the true question would be: is the other side of the Haze habitable for bugs? Is the athmosphere breathable? Is the temperature too cold or too warm? Perhaps that could be answered by meassuring the Haze's temperature through the year; surely, it would reflect some of the temperature outside. _Unless the beings who had constructed it had insulated it._

 

Oh! That was a new idea! She had never even considered that the Haze had been made by someone. She should have though about it, Monomon berates herself, the surface is too smooth, its form too homogeneous to be a natural formation.

Of course! This must be why its composition is the same as crystal and yet the internal structure so completely foreign. If someone had manipulated the crystal somehow to make the Haze, it would explain its oddities, like its resilience, for example. Perhaps it is reinforced? But if so, why? Is the Haze there to contain them... or is it there to protect them?

Up until now both theories would have seemed to be as likely, given that nobody had ever seen signs of life beyond the Haze. Things, however, have changed.

It must have been made by the being beyond the Haze, as it is too massive to have been made by any bug (which is one of the reasons why she had never considered it to be an artificial construct until now). Then again, the Haze has always been there, which must mean that this mysterious being must be even older than the Pale King! Such an ancient creature, oh, the knowledge it must possess! If only the King would grant her an audience... she has been pushing for it ever since the sighting, but his attention is somewhere else entirely.

 

She cannot bring herself to blame him, with the state of the Kingdom and the threat of the Radiance. She hopes that she could stay awake a little longer to study this new phenomenon, perhaps... No. She cannot go back on her word, the plan to contain the Radiance must go on, no matter what, or else there will be no bugs left to study anything at all.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

The second time the Titan comes, it wields a blazing light against the creatures of Deepnest, and the Pale King realizes that this isn't a problem that he can push back anymore. The Titan might not have been directly hostile yet, but if it has some sort of relation to the Radiance, he cannot ignore it much longer.

He gathers his knights, and the scholars, and begins to plan. He doesn't know what kind of defense they could possibly raise against such a powerful being, but they at least have to try. He only wishes he didn't have to juggle this with his containment of the Radiance.

 

Monomon the Teacher, as expected, speaks a continuous stream of questions that the Pale King himself doesn't know the answer to. No, he doesn't remember having seen anything like this before. No, this is the first time he has ever heard of beings of those dimensions. He carefully doesn't mention his odd memories about such a creature, he has yet to decide if it's a real memory or merely a bad dream. It's so easy to mistake them when you have lived for so long... Though, with the second appeareance of the Titan, he is starting to believe that it's a memory more and more. He doesn't want to give a wrong answer, however, so he will keep quiet until he is sure. Perhaps... hmmm. Yes, he could do that. Though their last encounter was far from friendly, he is desperate enough to call Grimm for his aid. If only to get any information he might know about the Titan. He has lived almost as long as the King; will he have memories of seeing it in the past just like him? If so, that would at least answer that question.

 

The debate starts heating when the possibility of trying to communicate with the Titan is brought up. Some bugs, scholars mostly, think it should be the next course of action. They argue that up until now it hasn't been hostile, so there's the possibility that it doesn't pose a threat. Herrah begs to differ. Soon, the meeting descends into chaos and he has to put an end to it; they won't get anything done like that anyways.

 

Finally, he instructs Lurien to keep an eye beyond the Haze in case it shows up again and, with a tired sigh, he retreats to his laboratory. He can see his dear Root giving him a worried look, but he cannot go to sleep when there's so much to do. He is aware of his condition worsening, but he can't stop, not now. He will rest once it's over, and regain his strength then.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Lys is confused, and also very grossed out. The pictures she took – she had to use the camera's flash because it was too dark in the basement and there weren't any lightbulbs yet – display some sort of arachnid creature, although very odd ones. Immediately after she had taken the pictures, the bugs had reacted violently too, throwing themselves at the glass as if trying to attack her. She had decided to take the pictures of the rest of the colony another day, it wouldn't do to upset the bugs. Who knows, they might eat each other if they become too stressed and destroy the colony (the entomologist had been her father, not her). Also, their screeching had creeped her out, and even now she still felt the thousands of tiny phantom spiders crawling over her skin.

 

She has been staying at the mansion for a week now, in one room she had managed to clean. She had to bring bedsheets from her place, and it had taken her a whole day to clean it up, but now it was livable, at least. By which she means that she isn't choking on dust everytime she breathes.

 

The third day, the day after she had cleaned the room, she had taken the pictures, and she hadn't been down there ever since. She can feel the curiosity nagging at her though, even now, begging her to go down there and find out more about those strange insects. Curiosity killed the cat, she tells herself. But then again, another side of her answers, she isn't a cat, is she?

 

In the end she has absolutely zero impulse control, and she soon finds herself going down the stairs as quietly as she can. She doesn't know why, only that for some reason she doesn't want the bugs to hear her.

There are still no lightbulbs, even after a week of her staying here and working on the rooms. She thinks the flash of the camera might have been what set the bugs off last time, and she really doesn't want a repeat. What if they become agitated and escape somehow? What if they are _venomous_? No, better to let the semi-darkness in the room untouched. At least during the day she can see well enough, and there's no amount of money you could give her to still be here after dusk.

Maybe that's why there are no lightbulbs, her father knew that the bugs couldn't tolerate light and so he got rid of them, that would make sense.

 

She approaches the colony carefully, walking around the couch – it isn't dusty, and it looks like her father might have spent a lot of time sitting there in the past – and inspecting the places that are more bustling with activity. Her attention is immediately drawn, however, to the sound of tapping. She searches for the source but can't find it, until the tapping repeats seconds later.

 

Tap, tap, tap, goes the glass, and there, on top of the colony – in front of a circus-like decoration that she hadn't seen before – she finds a small, black and red bug.

 

Tap, tap, tap.

 

The bug taps the glass again, three times, like it is politely knocking on a door. A smaller, white bug chitters angrily at the first, while the rest run to hide inside their tiny houses. She is surprised to see that they actually _close the door behind them_.

She turns her attention back to the tapping bug, who seems to be waiting patiently behind the glass. She waves, dumbly. The bug waves back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1Her father had used to write in shorthand, which allowed him to do superhuman things, like take perfect notes in class, or understand medic prescriptions. Not very good for comunication though. 

2The words were mere echoes of other fights, it wasn't the first one, and wouldn't be the last one, they had. 

3Though the bugs of Hallownest had managed to use high temperature kilns, like the ones used in a forge, they had never needed to manipulate crystal in the way humans do. That is, the crystals that form naturally in Crystal Peak are big enough for them to carve whatever they needed, whereas humans, given their stature, needed to melt them to form bigger crystals, such as glass. Where some bugs enjoyed the purple tint natural to the crystals, others found that a dip in acid would leave them being a lovely blue. Sadly, the use of crystals isn't as widespread throughout the kingdom yet, as it is a recent technological advance, so they can mostly be found in the City of Tears, though they can also be found in other various places like tram stations. 

4Some bugs believed the tunnels of Hallownest hadn't been excavated by ancient civilizations, but were in truth the remnants of said beings. Needless to say, these wild assumptions had yet to be proved. 

 


	2. Parodos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a new perspective and old faces show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grimm came to my house at 3am, punched me in the gut, stole my fic and got philosophical about mortality. Then the Nigmare Heart joined in on the fun and decided to make me highly uncomfortable.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING///Okay, let's get a little more serious now. While this AU is supposed to be kind of slice of life/fluff, and we're going to have those elements, I'm going to be touching some other darker themes. The Radiance and the Nightmare Heart are terrifying to me, they represent my very real fears of losing my mind slowly and not having autonomy over my own body/life, so they will be present in the story like an undercurrent. If they make you uncomfortable, or if they trigger you, please read with caution. It's not like I'm going to get explicit here, but this is also a fic to explore those things, so be cautious. There's a reason why I changed the rating from T to M.

He had been surprised at the feeling, the tugging in his chest that drew him to Hallownest. He had thought- no, he had been sure that the lantern had been destroyed.

 

And yet.

 

The echoes of a distant fire resonate against his soul, making the Nightmare Heart beat faster, more insistent. The lantern burns and he must heed its call.

 

The places between kingdoms are vast and unforgiving, but his troupe can manage them thanks to the Heart and the power it grants. Being its vessel, as bitter as it becomes cycle after cycle, has its perks; namely, being able to travel through dreams at one's leisure. Usually, he would make an act out of it, would make his troupe appear in the middle of the night near the biggest city and settle, so that in the morning they would be ready for their guests. If anything, it adds to the mystery that surrounds the Troupe.

This time, however, he remembers the past, and decides to avoid a repeat. The Pale King guards his kingdom with zeal, and doesn't allow 'higher beings' (in the Wyrm's words) in it, with few exceptions. It's all the same to Grimm, at least now Hallownest is remotely interesting; he remembers the days of the Radiance with contempt.

With all this in mind, Grimm decides to situate the tents atop the kingdom, near the entrance to the winding caverns. Not a place where he can gather a crowd, but something tells him that he will be attending other matters.

 

His crew is efficient, and eager to please; they dismantle the tents in record time and are ready to leave within the day, to wherever they have been called. He watches them fondly, he has lived and died countless times, yet he still cannot bring himself not to. It wouldn't be a mistake to say that he is drawn to them, as much as they are drawn to him. He wonders, sometimes, what it must be like, being like them. And do not get mistaken, he has a better comprehension of it than any other 'higher being' out there; he is born, he grows and he dies, just like his troupe.

 

But it's not the same.

 

Yes, they follow, but they fall. Dancers that tire of the song and fade from the ballroom until they are merely shadows, until they are nothing. They may live, as long as they serve the Heart, but the moment they refuse it, even in their minds, its protection from the erosion of time dissipates, and they crumble to dust. It's not uncommon to find the remains of a troupe member come morning.

 

He can feel it, their fear, when their life is at an end. He can smell it in the air so thick he can almost taste it. He wonders, sometimes, if his endless cycle of birth and death has dulled it for him. Wonders if he too, once, felt it in his chitin like an undercurrent. He cannot remember a time before the Heart. Was he someone, once? Someone who feared the finality of death? Did he ever get to feel its cold fingers close around his carapace like a claw?

 

He holds many questions in the hollow of his chest, but there is one that burns brighter than the rest.

 

Is it alive, that which cannot die?

 

Unanswered, the question festers like an unclean wound. Like an infection, he thinks, amused.

 

He doesn't care much for the disputes of others as old as he, though this doesn't mean he is unaware of them. After all, the ritual cannot proceed without a fallen kingdom. The nightmare flames cannot be collected until they are ripe with the despair and misery that comes with the decline of a society. The fear of death that burns inside the helpless bugs ignites a yearn, a want for something, anything, that can save them. This is usually the cue for the Troupe to enter the stage, not unlike a scavenger animal riping the flesh from a still breathing carcass.

 

Travelling to the Wyrm's kingdom feels like visiting a bedridden bug, one breath away from falling to their illness. Grimm can taste the decay in the air, can feel the Heart beating louder in eagerness for what its is to come. It's almost ripe. Almost.

 

The Pale King awaits him, the next morning, flanked by two creatures that vaguely resemble bugs in white armor. Grimm is surprised at the oddity of the king himself visiting the entrance to Hallownest, when he could have sent someone to summon Grimm to the palace (he would have gone, but only out of curiosity, mind you). The swiftness of the visit is also cause of shock; even if the Pale King was the one to summon the Troupe, he seems to be in a hurry. Perhaps, Grimm thinks – an uncanny smile stretching across his face as if carved with a nail – perhaps this kingdom has finally succumbed to the Radiance enough for the proud king to be desperate. Enough to even agree to the ritual, maybe. The Heart beats off-rythm for a second at the thought; yes, a grimmchild born of a deal with the Pale King would strengthen the Nightmare's host considerably.

 

It isn't a prospect that Grimm is too eager for, but the Heart can barely contain its excitement and it's leaking into his mind. Grimm feels his face smile wider, painfully so.

 

“A pleasure to meet yet again, dear Wyrm. To what do we owe this lovely visit, hmm?” The tone with which he says lovely is disgusting. His face threatens to betray his revulsion, but the Heart beats louder, faster, demanding. Grimm bows, to appease it and to hide the grimace of pain that has sullied his eerie grin, and disguises it as a curtsy to the king of Hallownest.

 

The Pale King seems to doubt between chastising Grimm for the overly familiar way in which he addressed him and being silently confused by his bow (Grimm isn't known to respect kings nor queens. After all, he has been here before any kingdoms rose, and will be here after their fall). The motive for his visit must be urgent, because he refrains from commenting. “We may have not parted in the best of terms, Troupe Master-”

 

An understatement.

 

“-yet I must ask for your counsel.”

 

Ah, flattery. The king must be indeed desperate, to admit needing counsel. Or needing anything, for all that matters. Grimm is very pleased to know that he has the upper hand, that he has something the Pale King needs so much that he would come crawling personally to Grimm's feet. Not because of what happened, oh no, not at all, that's water under the bridge.

 

Grimm's smile acquires an edge of complacency, and he gestures to the master tent behind him. “Important matters are not to be discussed in the open, dear Wyrm. Shall we?”

 

Much like a bug that falls into a spiderweb, the Pale King enters, albeit reluctantly. Grimm leads him to the antechamber before his room – the tent might not have rooms in the traditional sense, but the velvet curtains that sepparate the different spaces muffle the sound enough to give the illusion of privacy – and pulls one of the plush chairs surrounding the table out, pushing it as the Pale King sits. He swallows the bile that rises to his mouth.

The white bug crosses his hands primly over the table as Grimm takes his seat, and the Troupe Master sends one of the Novices for tea so he can get the sour taste off his mouth. The novice scrambles to fullfil their Master's demand as the armored creatures settle behind their king. He observes them idly, trying to discern what they are made of. The Pale King will speak once he's ready.

 

The silence stretches until the tea is served, interrumpted only by the clicking of spoons against the porcelain cups. Finally, the Wyrm speaks.

 

“Am I to believe that you are not aware of recent events?”

 

Grimm's movements still, and the clinking ceases for a moment, then he resumes stiring his tea, slower now. “I'm afraid I have been preoccupied with other ocurrences, and have not been able to keep as close an eye as I would have wanted to. I'm sure you will be kind enough to enlighten me.”

 

The king keeps quiet, adds a spoonful of sugar to his tea, then another, and another. That's his fifth spoonful of sugar, now. He sips from his cup, suddenly in no hurry now that he has some leverage over the situation, and gives a pleased 'humm' so quiet Grimm can barely hear it. “There have been some commotion in the Kingdom as of these past weeks. A being has appeared, so large it spans the entire height of Hallownest, so much so that it surpasses it, allegedly.”

 

Grimm, who was about to take a sip of his own now that the liquid isn't scalding, sets the cup back down in its plate with a small, quiet clink. Surely, he has heard wrong.

 

“There have been multiple sightings,” the king continues. “Enough to discard a mass hallucination caused by the Radiance. This being has also affected the Kingdom phisically on two occasions; once as a tremor in the Haze, and a second time as a blinding light that put the bugs of Deepnest in quite a state of panic.”

 

The bugs of Deepnest, Grimm remembers with apprehension, are more akin to feral beasts than anything he has encountered in his travels. What being could possibly be so terrifying that it would instill terror in their hearts? The Heart remains quiet.

 

“And what counsel could I possibly offer in this situation?” he asks. Usually, he would not be so forward, but he allows himself to be, if only a bit, rattled at the implications of such a creature. Maybe it would be best for the Troupe to leave Hallownest and don't look back.

The Heart gives a pinful beat, angered; they will not leave the kingdom with the possibility of a child of the Wyrm so close and tempting. Grimm tries not to shudder.

 

“I require only answers of you, Troupe Master. If you are willing to part with them.”

 

The king is still, his cup empty, his eyes boring into Grimm like a nail plunging into his core. Grimm swallows discreetely, feeling the Heart's anticipation and making a conscious effort to disentangle himself from it, at least enough to form coherent thoughts. “Everything has a price, dear Wyrm.” Despite his best efforts, the words come out sweet like honeysuckle. Revolting.

 

Grimm hears the intake of breath, waits for the Wyrm to answer as dread fills the pit of his stomach, and the words never come. The Wyrm turns his head sharply to one side, as if listening intently, waiting for something. Grimm hears a soft, distant 'thump', then another, closer. He gets up so fast that his chair rattles to the floor, drawing the attention of the king. He pays him no mind, talking instead to one of the novices that wait behind the deep red curtains. “I want every member of the Troupe inside the tents, _now_.”

 

Th tents won't offer any protection, but if need be, he can make a great effort to transport them between nightmares. It will leave him weak, as he has had no time to make preparations beforehand, but it can be done.

 

To the king, he asks, “is that the creature?”

 

The Pale King doesn't answer, instead he walks out of the room, through the maze-like paths of the tent and out of its velvety depths. Grimm growls deep in his throat, but follows nonetheless. Once outside, they freeze.

 

The being that is moving towards them is so vast that it takes only steps for it to cross the Chasm. It walks aroud the red plateau and moves towards Hallownest with purpose. Stopping before the Haze, it looks down at the Kingdom with an unreadable face, or what Grimm assumes must be its face. It has two eyes and a mouth, at least that much is recognizable, though there is a protrusion in between the eyes, and two defined lines over them. It has two arms, two legs, a torso and a head; not as alien as he expected it to be. Quite normal, if it wasn't for its size and its colorful clothing.

 

“The people have taken to call it the Titan.”

 

The voice of the Wyrm startles him and he looks at him out of the corner of his eye, reluctant to take his attention off of the so-called Titan. Both of them are standing before the Haze, to the right of the creature – its left, if he has to be precise – and it seems to not have seen them. Yet. The armored beingss flanking the king do not offer any semblance of protection in the face of this entity, and he represses the sudden urge to laugh hysterically at their uselessness.

The Pale King seems to be paying more attention to Grimm than the Titan, perhaps waiting to gauge his reaction. Grimm decides to pay him no mind and turns his eyes fully to the creature, which – who? – seems to be rather intent in inspecting Hallownest. He cocks his head to one side, thinking. Huh, maybe... He risks a glance at the Pale King, who is still observing him, then feels a smile – of his own, now – unfurl like a pleased cat laying in a patch of sunlight.

 

He takes a step towards the Haze.

 

“What are you-?” the king starts.

 

Grimm lifts one hand, paying no attention to the Wyrm and basking in his tone of alarm.

 

'Tap, tap, tap', he knocks, and the sound travels through the Haze like ripples on a lake. The being at the other side startles, and after a moment he sees it searching for the mysterious sound. He raps his knuckles against the Haze yet again, and this time the Pale King has recovered from the shock enough to make himself a nuisance.

 

“That is enough! Have you lost your mind? Drawing its attention is the last thing we-”

 

The king pauses as a shadow looms above them, forgetting about Grimm altogether. The Titan has found them. The bugs of Hallownest hide hastily, but its attention belongs only to Grimm and the king. It observes them with, dare he say, surprise written on its face, but makes no attempts to move. Grimm taps the glass once more. The Wyrm whirls sharply to look at him.

 

“ _Would you stop that_?”

 

But Grimm isn't paying attention – he is watching, riveted, as the Titan lifts one hand, slowly, as if unsure of the gesture. It waves at them, at Grimm. What else is he supposed to do? He waves back.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Lys is one more weird thing away from fainting. She has always huffed, offended at the portrayal of the weak fainting women in old movies, falling like autumn leaves the moment a slight breeze touches their delicate skin. And now look at her, dizzy at the sight of a bug waving at her. Well, you see, it isn't the waving itself. It's the _implication_ of the waving. The thought that it is intelligent enough to comprehend the gesture and return it. The impact its meaning has on her mind is what makes her dizzy, not the bug, definitely not the bug.

 

It is quite cute actually, she thinks, dazed. With its little cape and all. And its white friend, oh! It's so tiny! Is she going crazy? She must be. “Hello?” she asks, regardless of this. In spite of it, even.

 

The bugs, which had been quiet and barely moving, start chittering between themselves frantically, as if her voice has pierced through their stillnes. She comes closer, leaning slightly so her eyes are at their level. They seem to be having some sort of discussion, though she cannot understand anything they say. If they even use words, they are too high pitched and too quiet for her to discern. Finally, the black bug turns to her, jerking his shoulders at her proximity. She must have startled it, she thinks. It waves at her again and yelps. It is, she supposes, saying hello back. Then it starts 'talking', or chirruping, more like. She has absolutely no idea of what it wants.

 

The white one says something, and the sound ceases as both bugs inspect her. After a few seconds, the black one points at her, then at the ground. She cocks her head to the side, frowning. It wants her to stay? For what?

 

Taking her silence as a sign of confusion, it repeats the previous actions.

 

“Stay?” she asks, hoping that at least it can understand her. “You want me to stay here?”

 

It shakes its head, then stops and makes a so-so movement with its tiny hand. Gosh, it even has tiny little fingers. It's like a doll. She did have dolls in that size, when she was little, she wonders if they're still in the mansion somewhere... They must look so tiny in her adult hands now.

 

It's not the moment to think about that, she berates herself. She looks back in time to see the white bug drag a tired hand down its smooth face, then motion towards the circus behind them. The black bug grows agitated as the two bigger white bugs – she hadn't noticed them before, so silent. Are they the white bug's parents? – go inside, to which the white bug responds with equal agitation. They make sharp hand movements, as if they're arguing, and she has to resist the urge to coo at them. They're like small people! And their capes – robes? – flutter around them dramatically.

 

After a moment, the bugs come back with the tiniest chair Lys has seen in her life. The black bug falls silent and crosses his arms under the cape, observing as the white one sits on the chair, points at her, then at the ground. They both look at her, expectantly. The white, bigger ones don't give any sign of life.

 

“You... want me to sit? On the couch?” They shake their heads vehemently. The white one seems to adopt a primm and proper posture on the chair, looking at her intently. Then raises its hands and starts lifting finger after finger, counting, she realizes. “Oh! I get it, you want me to _wait_.”

 

They nod. Well then, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? It's not like this situation is going to get less weird if she leaves now. Even if she walked away and tried to pretend it had never happened, she would undoubtedly come back after a while, dying of curiosity. Her father was clearly doing something with these bugs; studying them? She wants to know what it was, maybe... Maybe this could even explain why he decided to do what he did. Once reached the inevitable conclusion, she nods. “Alright, I'll wait here. You, uh, do your thing.”

 

Without saying goodbye to its friend – she guesses they did have a fight, then – the short, white bug leaves, followed by the other, taller ones. She watches as it stands on a lift, slowly making its way down, and climbs a bigger bug. The big bug – this one doesn't walk on two legs like the others, she notices – has a short conversation with the white one, then starts running down the tunnels, carrying its passengers to an unknown location. She turns her attention back to the black one, only to find it observing her. Well, this is awkward.

 

“Ssooo,” she starts, trying to find a conversation topic, or at least something to distract herself with. “Is that your circus or...?”

 

The bug immediately perks up, nodding with ethusiasm. Before she can understand what's happening, he has called his little – all of them have the same face markings! – friends and she is the one and only spectator of a precarious show. There are pirouettes, dangerous jumps through rings of fire and spectacular tricks, all fire-based. She claps when they bow, signalling the end of their act, and the small black bug preens like a peacock. He gives her one last bow, this time with a little cape flourish, and turns back to the others, seemingly giving orders to collect all props and return to their stations. She watches the tiny bugs disappear inside the tents, some of them even daring to risk a glance back at her, curious.

 

She doesn't know how long the show has lasted, entertaining as it was, but it must have been quite a lot, because soon after the white bug comes back. He is being followed by a group of other bugs – she notices, disappointed, that they don't seem to be a team like the black ones were, with their coordinated face markings and clothes – that immediately start setting up some sort of contraption. Inside a tank of bubbling substance, a jellyfish-like being seems to be giving them orders.

She approaches the working bugs and, after the initial shock of seeing her, they proceed to ignore her in favour of continuing their task. The jellyfish notices this and its tank is wheeled closer to the glass, close enough to touch it. A small pillbug stations itself beside it and looks at her from time to time, taking notes in a small tablet-like thing. She tries to take a look at what he's writing and he gives a little jump of surprise; when he recovers, he turns the tablet towards her so she can see tiny squiggles all over it. She squints, trying to make sense of it, and cocks her head to the side. Finally, she gives up, shrugging and shaking he head. The pillbug gives her a shrug of his own and goes back to his task.

 

When Lys stops observing him – it feels so odd to see a bug do something so mundane as writing – she discovers that the jellyfish is staring at her quite intently. She stares back at it, trying to make sense of its presence amongst so many bugs. After a few moments, the jellyfish lifts a tentacle and waves it in her rection. Lys smiles.

 

“Hello to you too, little one,” she says. The jellyfish says something to the pillbug, in what Lys thinks is an excited tone, and the pillbug nods enthusiastically. Are they friends? They seem like they're friends.

 

When there's nothing more for her to do, she walks to the couch and plops down, tired of standing. The sun, she notices, has entirely disappeared, and the only light in the room is the one inside the tank. There is a myriad of things that glow in the darkness, bioluminiscent, she thinks, as well as small lampposts in what she assumes is the biggest city. She lets the time pass, observing the diferent zones in which this strange society seems to have been sepparated. There are even small lakes, she discovers, though she guesses that she should have known that they would need a water source. She only gets up when her stomach growls, realizing that she hasn't had anything to eat in a while.

 

Distant chittering rises from behind her, sounding alarmed, when she turns to leave. She pauses and looks back. “I'm only going for a snack, okay? I'll be back in a bit, I promise,” she says, and after giving them a thumbs up, she goes upstairs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> EDITED 09/07/19: added the footnotes (I cannot, for the life of me, make a 'return to text' link that works) and made some small changes in the text. Nothing plot-relevant.


End file.
